Konoha's Broken Feet
by Faint Pride
Summary: Two limbs stubbornly refused to quail. There was a rustle near my legs, and a sweet voice—his voice, telling me the things that I didn’t want to hear. “You will never walk, Little Flower.” And I’m not too tired to cry, after all. SakuxSasu SakuxIta
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter**: 1

**Posted**: 4/7/06

**Chapter Rating**: K+

**Warning**: None

………………………**…**

Konoha's Broken Feet 

………………………**…**

We were all getting too old, too fast. We fought so, so hard for all those things we thought were relevent to us—Konoha, mainly—but the time it took to secure such a fate doubled around and bit us in the face. It got us again and again, and every time it did, it clawed a chuck out of our youth. We were too old.

My shoulders heaved as if they held a planet on each side. I was shaking, I knew—weakness. It plagued me, and I wheezed an ironic little laugh. My hands crumpled up under me as I slid my cheek back down against the cool, creviced cement.

No, not cement. Rock. It came off on my fingers like dust.

At what point is it understandable to give in? Mother had raised me religiously, and my mind, though miserable, fought still against the sin that was on my tongue's tip all the time now. _Suicide_. I wondered when it had turned from weakness to relief. To strength. It shone like a great, big angel to me, fluttering and giggling where my fingers could reach. I just didn't have the will to drag them out from under me.

Is this it, then? Is this the blessed end of darling, dimpled Sakura? My eyes rolled up in their sockets, blurring and honing in on the answer. It stared at me in the shape of damnable, red eyes.

………………………**…**

I screamed, feeling the water, sharp and sweet like needles, drench me.

"_Naruto_." My voice tremored with power, and I reveled in the sound. I reflected that it made me feel full and deep in the chest, as if what I was saying was truly important. Like it burst forth from the clouds or something.

Within four long moments, the idiot resurfaced the water, totally oblivious to my comment. I watched as gelatin ripples fanned out from his shoulders, then from his arms when they arched to splash me. I growled in mock fury, prancing onto higher grounds.

Hinata laughed. He was doing this all for her, of course, and maybe a little bit for me. But just a little bit. It made me feel happy, being around the two; maybe I felt like a sort of authority about the affair. They were both so welcoming to my company that it almost erased the guilt I had over being the town's little unsocialite.

"Aw, Sakura's just a fraidy-cat." The sun-bleached face cracked a grin. "Get it? Cats hate water…Hey, do you guys get it?"

I watched Hinata touch her fingers to her mouth, smiling with an almost apologetic expression drawn between her eyebrows. I decided to be the party-trasher.

"Naruto, that was _bad_," I drawled. My hand found a secure home at my hip.

"Nh." His shoulders jerked a shrug before he re-plummeted beneath the surface. I allowed myself a smile then.

It had been the three of us quite a lot of the time. Sometimes, when the days were good and their bodies were left to recuperate after missions, some of the others from the original rookie bunch would accompany us on our afternoons. Ino would come if I asked, railing on me and whoever else stood in front of her about all the things that filled her pretty head. Kiba and Shikamaru, too, would arrive, with Chouji tailing soon behind and smelling of potato chips and fizzy drinks. Though Hinata told me she coaxed, Neji-san never came. He was always gone. His old teammates, however—the ironic Rock Lee and Tenten, who had proven herself to be a close friend of mine—would trudge along with the pack of us, stalking up and down Konoha's beloved haunts until we'd had our fill. That was the way we did things.

It was not the same, we knew; some of us were absent during those days. Besides Hyuuga Neji, we missed Shino, Hinata's friend and vital team member. Something had changed in him, she told me, and he didn't pass out of the house much. We'd tried, of course. Three of us (including me, Hinata, and Kiba) had pounded against his door for close to a half hour, but nobody had bothered to acknowledge us besides the neighbors. They had thrown pieces of broken garden pots and balls of plastic wrap at us until we'd decided the Aburame's really weren't home.

Damn them. It was all so frustrating. I had always hated change, hadn't I? Always…

Well, it was _his_ fault…Sasuke. He just had to go and ruin our good time—our fine plans. As much as I hated and loathed and stormed, though, I really did miss him. To bad missing wasn't enough.

I never stayed out past eight anymore.

………………………**…**

I was hard put to remember how I'd come to be in that dark place. My hands—they spread themselves against the rock, see-through pale and unhandsomely scarred. _So ugly_. My fingernails were bruised purple, and each and every one of them wore enough chips and scratches to break a mirror. I raised one of these misfortunes, rubbing its palm awkwardly against my eyes.

His gaze burned holes into my back from where I lay, sprawled like a broken mess on my stomach. The holes in my back shriveled open, revealing to every downcast eye my maimed and defective internal workings. As though they weren't obvious enough from the outside. Drudgingly, I felt a spark flair within me, tiny and half-dead, but I knew it wasn't enough to make me raise my eyes. I could not meet his.

"You are broken."

Yeah, the word had passed my brain a few times already. Maybe that's why I really didn't care enough to reply.

"…And weak."

I felt my eyelids flicker lazily as his boot steps circled my side. Though I'd thought myself past the point of fear, I tensed. I know I did.

Apparently, so did he. "You are afraid, too," I heard him murmur. I sucked in cold, cold air, pulling back; his breath teased against my ear. "Tell me, Little Flower…do you fear me? I want to know."

I closed my eyes, though I was much too exhausted to weep. Whimpers swelled within my throat while it constricted, bent on my suffocation. I felt every single limb of mine shaking, down from my fingers to my shoulder bones.

Two limbs, however, stubbornly refused to quail. There was a rustle near my legs, and a sweet voice—his voice, telling me the things that I didn't want to hear.

"You will never walk, Little Flower."

I'm not too tired to cry, after all.

………………………**…**

"Oi, Sakura! You coming in or not?"

I shielded my eyes against the frigid sun, admiring how it beat against Naruto's ray-bleached flesh. It made him shine orange, cladding the boy in his comfortable jumpsuit even when it lay, discarded and disheveled, on the grass beside me. I swear sometimes, I should have been a painter.

"C'mon, the water's fine!"

I smiled beneath my fanned out fingers, linking together my response as it left my mouth. "No…I think I'm going to start home…" I was saying.

They were used to this, Naruto and Hinata. They watched me go with small frowns, but I knew their worries would not last long. We all knew I was fortunate and happy.

I let myself into my parent's house and wound through the crowded doorways and halls, seeking out my bedroom. I kicked the door closed and settled onto my bed, curling myself away from the window.

I'm not too tired to cry, after all.

But I had made a promise. So I struggled down my tears and saved them for another time, another day when I might need them. I'm a kunoichi, aren't I? It will take more than an ache to break me.

………………………**…**

**Author's Note**: Hello, beloved readers. I'm planning on making the following chapters longer than this one (depending on whether or not I'll make future chapters; it depends on how the readers ((meaning you)) like it), so please don't be disappointed by the lack of text. This is my very first fan fiction ever, much less my first Naruto fanfic, so please inform me if I've gotten any details off. It's very difficult to keep the facts straight while winding in your own storyline and dialogue. Moving on, I'm currently in search of a beta reader, so leave a comment if you're interested.

Thanks for reading. Now go check up on my stuff over at Fictionpress under my username, Every Thought. If you don't, I'll beat you with a stick.

Just kidding. I love you all, honestly.

Reviewers will be returned the favor, while flamers will be shot with my dad's machine gun.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter**: 2

**Posted**: 4/9/06

**Chapter Rating**: K+

**Warning**: None

………………………**…**

Konoha's Broken Feet 

………………………**…**

Was it blue? No, it was too dark. Much too dark. Blue's could be dark, though, couldn't they? My eyes glanced down at my dress, then back at Ino's eyes. _A perfect match_.

Those eyes threw daggers at me.

"Sakura, what's wrong?" Her voice combed itself over with bristle and impatience. I disregarded the sound and waved my hand in her face.

"Nothing, nothing," I heard myself say. "Please stop asking."

She chewed the inside of her cheek, hands slung at her hips. "This only came up today," she mumbled, glancing around the flower shop and finding it vacant. Her cheeky faced turned back to me. "I know better than anybody when there's something off about you. Tell me."

"Something 'off,' eh?" A hollow laugh blew through my teeth, though her words unsettled me. I turned my eyes away from the ones latched onto mine and skimmed over the surrounding tables. It was noontime, and the Yamanaka Flower Shop was closed to visitors. I could hear raised voices outside, laughing and conversing as people sped by, shopping baskets in tow. At least, that's what I imagined.

"Sakura, look at me."

My eyes lodged themselves on a space somewhere over her head. "I _told _you, nothing is wro—"

"I know you better than that, Haruno." And then she said it, her voice dropping disarmingly. "It's about _him_, isn't it? Did you hear something?"

I could feel my teeth clatter against one another like a stack of broken dishes. My face fell into my hands, and I finally told my friend what had happened the night before.

………………………**…**

I had checked my watch. _7:48_… Cheeks prickling in the remnants of an Indian summer, I had forced my feet to speed down the dusted street. I was home, practically.

It had been a bad night, I remember. Too hot, too moist, though too chilly at the same time. Purple-gray thunderclouds gathered over my head, making me feel stooped and hardly higher than two feet tall. I wished it would just rain already; the waiting made me feel sick. I was not a patient person.

Mail. _Damn, damn, damn_. Circling around again, I nearly tripped over my feet in a rush to find the end-of-the-street mailbox. _40215_ was the Haruno's number… Ah. There. It was always my mother who did these things, and I felt awkward as I fumbled with the keys.

_Two bills_… I disregarded crinkly envelopes as I retraced the sidewalk, heading home. We didn't get much mail—never had. My family was so tiny and unsociable that we didn't seem to know enough people who would actually bother sending something through post. If anybody received something, though, it was my mother. She was a part-time nurse at the clinic and oftentimes asked her patients to write her if they needed a refill on prescriptions.

That was why I stopped short when I weeded out a letter address to me. That was it—just "Sakura." Feeling the ecstatic twinge in my fingers, I padded up the remainder of our driveway and let myself into the house. It was unlocked, as usual, so I didn't have a need to pull my eyes from my name. _Sakura_…

I didn't recognize the penmanship as I pressed through our pale, pasty kitchen. The bills were set atop the counter, but I misjudged the distance and had to scoop them off the floor. Passing through the halls, I heard my mother at the sewing machine in the living room. She was working on a new kimono for herself, I think. I didn't care. I closed myself in my room.

_Who would need to mail me?_ I wanted to know, but there wasn't an addressee on the back, just a sadly blank, white space. That frustrated me as I squeezed myself between the sheets of my bed and pulled the chord to my lamp so that it turned on. The light made the paper look even paler, dingier, than before. I tore it open.

Tugging out the paper, I saw that it was neat, lined—the kind we used to use in the Academy. Unfolding it, I choked on a gasp.

I thought it was a spider or something, rolling out onto my lap, but my eyes quickly stomped out that fear. _It was hair_… Pinching the clog of strands up between my fingers, I held it a safe distance from my face.

Light caught on strands, causing the black to shine as though it was newly washed. I was bewildered to say the least and could only hope that it was human hair. I set it on my bedside dresser, just to be safe, as I unfolded the waiting letter.

I'm the worst at recognizing at which point it is best to react. Some occasions I'm too slow in thinking, too sluggish to realize the true importance of an action. Most times, however, I act too quickly and fail to soak up the finer details of the situation.

Now, as I ran my fingers over the three selective words, I forced my mind to calm itself, to analyze every possible cause that could have attributed to this…

There was only one reason that prodded itself into my brain. Holding the paper inches from my eyes, I reread the line over for the fifth time.

_We have him._

My eyes could not help but wander over to my bedside table, where the black hair, shiny but coarse, feathered out over the wood.

………………………**…**

**Author's Note**: Short chapter, I know, but that's all there was to tell about this particular part of the story. I could have tagged more onto it, but then it'd be running into the next chapter's territory. I made the wait for this one extra short to make up for it.

On to the reviews…

_Achava_: Sorry about all the confusion – I get that a lot. My beginnings are always hard to understand. I'll be back to review some of your stuff soon.

_Aliana1_: "Wonderful"? Wow, thank you! You're sweet. See you next chapter…

_sw337p34n3k0-ch4n_: Don't worry – I don't shoot innocent reviewers. You're safe. Anyway, thanks much for the review and input…I really appreciate that you all took the time to give me some feedback.

See you all next chapter, estimated in 4-5 days.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter**: 3 

**Posted**: 4/12/06

**Chapter Rating**: K+

**Warning**: None

………………………**…**

Konoha's Broken Feet

………………………**…**

When I was small, when my father still lived in Konoha, I used to be quite the girl. Dresses, long locks, painted nails—I submerged myself in the whole façade. Though my level of confidence was questionable, I was enough of an actress to shepherd the notion that I knew what I was doing. To pretend I knew what I was talking about. With my pretty, little face, I like to think I did a damn good job.

My mother hadn't been much of a looker in her youth. My father, the qualified medic nin that he was, had married her purely out of cash. It was something Mother had buckets of. She loved Father, though—who didn't love father?—and was much too sweet to complain, anyway.

Her ruin.

I was more like my father than Mother in the retrospect that I was rather popular with the village. I was a smart thing, and I think that virtue nearly made up for my weak indecision to act. Of course, that only pertains to my days in the academy. Afterward, once lady Tsunade-sama took me under her wing, I had half my wonderful brains beaten out and a load of brute strength dumped into me instead. I was told it was necessary.

I don't know what to think of myself now. My face lost its sweetness somewhere along these past few years; my cheekbones nearly poke through my skin, it's so thin. My body isn't as formed as I thought it'd be. I had my hair cut short—boy-short—while telling myself it was out of necessity. _Was it really?_ Ten asked me once. And I said exactly what _he_ would have said.

"What do you think?"

I know what I think. I'm more like Mother than I thought.

………………………**…**

I did not sleep well that night. My house, being small and ransacked of anything that might satisfy a late-night craving, ushered me back to dreamland. I didn't want to go.

My eyes were wide and darting, fixing themselves on the curl of black hair on my dresser, on my wrinkled start-of-autumn sheets, on my indiscernible footboard, then circling back again. My mind was on a reel. What did I think? How was I reacting to the sudden confrontation? I wanted to know.

My nerves were all that I felt. I knew, not in my heart, but in my brain, that it was _him_ that the letter spoke of. _He_ was the one that needed rescuing. I couldn't tell whom the letter was from, but I could guess, all right. I formulated stories in my tightly stretched mind.

Maybe he had broken away from Orochimaru. _Yeah._ Maybe he'd taken my advice, decided revenge wasn't for him. Maybe some friendly Grass nins volunteered to steer him back to Konoha's gates.

_And maybe I'm ten years old._ On all counts, it could have been Sasuke's brother writing; "we have him" could have only meant they had Sasuke's dead body.

_Shut up, shut up, shut up._ The thought had crossed my mind too often before, though. Too often, too long. It didn't hurt like it used to.

My fingers strayed over to trace the dark, dark hair on my bedstand. It felt so coarse, so wrong beneath my fingers, and I didn't know why. A taste of vile was in my mouth, and I pulled my hand back, furrowing further beneath the sheets.

………………………**…**

Lee was the sweetest guy I had ever met. Even though I had grown pale, flat chested, and too skinny, uncomfortably lithe like a shinobi, he still treated me with the utmost curtsey. Too bad I didn't love him, because I sure as hell wouldn't meet another guy willing to overlook such details.

He was grasping my hand and helping me up from where I sat beneath the shaded greens. It was sunny and crisp out; we were all sparring, the six of us, and I had drawn straws with Kiba. Feeling good and kind of dazed from all the sunlight in my eyes, I waltzed across the grassy field and took my place across from him.

He grinned as we both crouched, calling me off. "You're looking too confident for you own good, Haruno," he cajoled. "Wouldn't want to wipe that smile off your face."

"Couldn't if you tried, dog-boy." _Dog-boy._ That's what I called people in my head. _Knucklehead. Ino-porker. Snow White._ I meant to harm by the names, but it helped me identify each individual in the village. No one minded, as far as I know, though it was hard to tell. People sometimes said things just to make me feel better.

"Hn." He dug his shoes into the ground, pulling up clumps of dirt beneath his feet. I saw Naruto raise a hand in my peripheral vision.

The blond screwed his eyes shut against the glare omitted between the trees; his voice hit my ears like a dozen hammers. "On three, right? And no early starts, Kiba!"

"Ah."

"One…"

I tensed and relaxed my feet, opening up the chakra channels for momentary use. The brown-head ran a hand across his nose and bent lower to the earth.

"Two…"

My heart hammered in my ribs, caught up in a comfortable excitement. I luxuriated in the fact that I wouldn't be fighting for my life today.

"Two and a half…"

"Naruto!" I don't know who said it first, but it had not been entirely unexpected. The knucklehead scratched his forehead and sighed.

"Fine, fine. _Three!_" And I jumped.

My eyes scanned the grassy floor from my tree-bound perch, feeling comfort in my bird's-eye view. My only disadvantage was that the Inuzuka was another high jumper, though it was my only disadvantage. His dog was sick this morning, so I needn't worry about a double opponent this time.

I heard voices and a swish. Attempting to decipher one from the other, I decided it best to shift to the offensive and tore two kunai from my pouch. I did not get far, however, when something feathery-light was pushed against my hand. My heart went into my throat as I turned my head. It was paper.

_An exploding tag?_ I wondered. But no, it was an envelope. I knew because I had been staring at one too often for the past three days. My vision flicked up into the surrounding trees as I sought out the one who had delivered it, but a part of me knew they were long gone. I returned my attentions to the envelope clutched tight in my palm and hopped from the tree.

"Oi, Sakura." Naruto was jogging towards where I stood, a frown between his eyes. "What happened? You fall?"

I felt the excitement frothing in me and knew I had to get away from there before I started giggling like an idiot. "Uh, tell Kiba he wins," I said, turning away.

"I do?" It was the dog-boy's voice, behind me. I continued walking, eyes swallowing up the paper as I forced my legs faster, glad for once that they all strove so very hard to humor me.

………………………**…**

I sat limply on my bed, the unfolded note curling slightly in my palms.

It was only a picture this time—no words, no clues—but it was enough. In clean, deft strokes, it illustrated a shady clearing; the circular bend of the trees contradicted the ruled lines of the paper. In the center of the clearing was a girl, her back drawn to the viewer. She wore a sheet of shoulder-length hair, and by the angle of her head, she seemed to be gazing into a far tree where a dark shape, a figure, sat hunched.

I supposed that girl was supposed to resemble my twelve-year-old self.

The only color in the image was the color of the sky, drawn red with crayon.

I was at a loss. Was I supposed to find this clearing? Did it exist? If this were indeed some sort of map, it was poorly done.

Unamused, I turned the paper over in my wrist, studying its back. In the corner, barely discernable, was the symbol of the Sound.

I knew now that it had been in my mind all along.

Did Uchiha Itachi sketch in his spare time?

………………………**…**

The streets of Konoha were too dark for my comfort. All the while, pattering out of my neighborhood, my mind a blank slate, I chanted my mantra. _I'm not afraid of the dark. I'm not afraid of the dark. Damn right, I'm not afraid of the dark._

Funny how I actually was.

I was saying goodbye. Earlier it had been to my bedroom, to my cat, to my sleeping mother in her bedroom (though I hadn't had the willpower to open the door and look at her). Now, as I nodded to the end-of-the-street lamppost, I made a song out of it. Thing was, I couldn't rhyme.

It didn't feel real to me. It seemed as though I was only making a rather late-night calling on the hospital, maybe on Mother's summoning. Except my mother was sleeping soundly in her bed. And I had my backpack loaded with four days work of food from our icebox.

How it all happened still surprises me. I was Haruno Sakura, wasn't I? The great thinker—what had happened to that? I was acting on an unrealistic whim. I was leaving Konoha because of some stupid letter from God knows where.

_Walk faster._ My sandaled feet sped down the cemented sidewalks until I was practically running down the streets, flying almost. Things blurred past me, familiar things, but I disregarded them.

I remembered all the nights I lay in bed and wondered where he was, what he was doing. If he was thinking about me, or if he was dead already, blown to pieces or left to starve. I was going to find out. Now.

The gate. Right there. Faster, now. In a fervent daze, I summoned all my chakra—much, much more than was needed—to the soles of my feet. I would run as fast as I could past the guards; it was dark, who would notice? Feeling the heat around my eyes and my sandals, I prayed.

I prayed that my mother would understand when she woke up tomorrow as the only resident in the house.

I prayed that Naruto and the others would stay calm and not come looking. I prayed that they would wait.

I prayed that Ino wouldn't let anything slip to anybody about the first letter. That she would trust me for once, again.

I prayed that God would have mercy on me right there, right now, and forgive me for betraying my village for a few weeks until I returned.

My prayers were cut short: I was already through the gates.

………………………**…**

I traveled for two weeks straight.

On my way from the house, I had "borrowed" enough change for a five-night stay at some kind of run-down inn. It was the best my conscience could cope with. My mother was not rich, and neither was I, but we had somehow managed before. I would continue to do so.

It was so cold. For some reason, God had decided that the sweet Indian summer we enjoyed had lasted far too long the evening I left Konoha. The winds riled themselves as I padded from the gates; the rain started pittering at the top of my head and ran down my back. Needless to say, lady Tsunade's survival tactics had drudgingly kicked into gear within me, but I took no comfort in those skills. Instead of feeling like the well-trained kunoichi I believed myself to be, I felt like some sort of damp and frightened sewer rat, scuttling around the bases of trees and ever seeking shelter from the storms.

And I was frightened. Countless times—more times than I'm comfortable in retelling—I considered turning around and making my way back. I considered returning home, considered crawling between my bed sheets and never forcing my skin to bear the beating of the rain again. But something held me against it, and I took a wild stab at what it was. Rather, who it was.

I would never get used to the smell of rain on rotted wood.

………………………**…**

The man belched in my face. "Eh, dunno 'bout that." I felt his eyes as they went over my pale, lank personage; my pastel hair that clung tightly to my scalp. His eyes sidled sideways. "We's near full of women…"

I forced my voice low and sharp, though I wanted to squeal out my frustrations. "I don't mean like that," I said. "All I want is a room."

"Eh?" He glanced down as I extracted my palm from the counter, revealing coins. They gleamed in the lantern's half-light.

It was better than women. "Follow me," he said, a grin gracing his features.

……..

This room was whiter than my own in Konoha. The beaten dresser, lodged up against the four-cornered bedpost, gleamed darkly—it was the only not-white object within view. I chose it to toss my backpack beneath.

There was a mirror across from my bed, dimly lit and smeared with lipstick marks and fingerprints. A crack ran down its center, splitting my face in half like a broken image. I didn't care; the Sakura I glimpsed wasn't anything I wanted to get to know better.

I turned away from the mirror and let my eyes wander the short expanse of carpet that squished under my feet. The bed, worm holed and depressed, seemed almost inviting to me in my state. It didn't collapse when I lowered my weight onto it, anyway. Wasn't that a sign?

_Damn._ It was happening. My eyes were stinging. To distract myself and my emotions, I swung my feet across the bed and leaned back on the pillow, pushing my thin line of bangs from my face. It wasn't so bad, was it? I had a place to stay tonight… I was fed and watered and kind of clean… Already, I was eight days through my journey… And anyway, this wasn't the worst place I had stayed, was it? It was my fourth hotel, and by far one of the quietest…

I did not like this. The hand on my forehead clenched, and I took breaths to calm myself. I did not like where I was. I did not like who I was or what I was doing. I was a bad person.

_He_ was a bad person. _He_ left home, and now I gone and done the same thing.

But it was too late to go back, wasn't it? _Yeah…_ I was days within my goal. I was on the border of the Sound. I was so close to finding _him_—just imagine seeing him again. His face, his eyes, his hair… Subconsciously, I went to reach for the tie of locks that had started all of this, but both it and the letters were hidden securely in my backpack. I let my head fall back on its pillow again. _Why bother?_

I tossed onto my side, causing the mattress to sway. My hands, rough and calloused from training, were positioned in front of my face. I gazed at them as my eyelids lowered…

This all really wasn't that bad. I had a goal and a purpose, and I was determined enough to reach for it to the fullest extent. But still…

I wanted to go home.

………………………**…**

The village was more open than I'd thought it'd be. Grimly, I stopped the first woman I came across—a squat, aproned lady—and asked directions. I had been doing so this whole while.

She studied the picture, the "map," that I had been given. "N-no…" Her head jerked slightly, causing me to bear a metal image of Hinata. "I-It's just…Wait!" Light came into her eyes, and she pointed over my head, rising onto the tips of her toes. "There! It's w-where the children play in the s-summertime."

Her tiny hand caught my wrist as I thanked her, spinning me around. "But d-don't go now," she chided, eyes pleading with me. "S-snow…"

"I know." My hands wrenched her fingers from my sleeve, and I waved again. All my vision was latched onto the direction she had pointed; there was something caught in my chest, but I didn't know what the feeling was.

I wasn't very afraid.

I had not bothered to hear the village's name, but I knew from its shape that it ran in a circle around itself. Outside the circle, where the snow and the hail jut in, were spliced rows of trees and near-dead scrubs. I had to maneuver around and atop these things in order to trace the path the nervous lady had directed. I felt the weird thing in my chest swell painfully.

I blew on my hands, felt my shoulders quaking within my coat. It wasn't warm enough for my comfort, but I didn't much care. The sky around me was sheening from orange-gray to red, and I finally found myself gazing into the base of a house-sized clearing. My hands fumbled as I tore the paper from my pack.

The red of the crayon matched that of the sky to an uncomfortable accuracy. Teetering on the limb of a tree, I dared a glance around, praying to God that whomever I was supposed to meet was small and ruly. I didn't want a fight.

I waited for ten minutes. When nothing stirred but the sheet of snow falling thickly around me and my tired limbs as they quaked in the cold, my mind turned for the worst. The picture showed the girl staring up from the very center of the clearing.

Breathing more roughly than I'd like to admit, I took my chances. My feet were cautiously touching the patterned, snowy earth in a matter of silent moments.

There was no room in my mind for second thoughts. Stumbling forward with as much dignity as I still possessed through my frail, freezing limbs and my blank state of mind, I positioned myself in the very center of the clearing, just like he had drawn me.

I took a moment in hesitation. Then I looked up.

………………………**…**

**Author's Note**: I tried to make this chapter longer. I'm sorry for the cliffhanger, but they are some of my favorite ways to end things. You can complain if you'd like; I don't have my gun with me this time.

Now, the reviews…

_Skogstroll_: The reason for the note will be better explained in later chapters, along with why it was sent to Sakura. You can't expect me to leave it hanging at that, can you? Though I don't know how long it will be until I get to that point, I promise that all ends will wrap up eventually.

_Daughters of the Moon_: Here's your update, and thanks for reviewing. Compliments always put me in a good mood, haha.

_sw337p34n3k0-ch4n_: A loyal reviewer, eh? I appreciate it. There's nothing worse then churning out a chapter by a given deadline and not getting any comments on it. Anyway, I never was a fan of Sakura-centered fics, but I've become inordinarily interested in her character over the past few weeks. In all the fictions I've read, however, she is depicted as some curvy sort of goddess. Though there is nothing wrong with this, I thought I'd try something different – the exact opposite effect. I'm interested on how this will go over with you guys…

_ineedtofeelalive_: Hello there; thanks for the reviews. Yeah, I don't know exactly where the "beat you with a stick" thing came from…Life is unpredictable like that, I suppose. See you next chapter…!

_Sekiryu_: I apologize for the confusion. "Flashback mode fic"? I don't think it is…This takes place four years after Sasuke leaves Konoha. I know I haven't made it clear yet, but I was planning on working that into future chapters.

_RobinAmon_: That's all you have to say? I really don't like one-word reviews… (rubs knuckles)

See you all next chapter, estimated in 5 or so days.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter**: 4

**Posted**: 4/15/06

**Chapter Rating**: T

**Warning**: Mild violence

………………………**…**

Konoha's Broken Feet 

………………………**…**

Sometimes people only pretend to deny things.

Four years ago, when we still called ourselves Team 7, we had made a sport of gathering on the bridge. It was our meeting place. Undaunted by the time or weather, I would arrive first, crisply dressed and groomed to my highest tastes. I would lean over the skewed, wooden edge, fantasizing, until _he_ arrived, and then I would talk. I would tell him about myself—about my moods and humors. And, at least until Naruto and Kakashi-sensei dropped by, I would have the freedom of knowing that he wouldn't silence me. Only when there were others around would he tell me to be quiet.

I remember another time we gathered on a bridge, though it had been outside of Konoha's borders and under very different circumstances. I had been so proud of myself that day. It was the first time that I recall little Haruno Sakura finally standing up for someone other than herself: the bridge-builder. It's been so long, though, and so many things have happened since those days. Not changed, just happened.

I often deny that things are the same as they were then—that I am the same. But sometimes people only pretend to deny things. Sometimes they are glad the world runs its own course and doesn't give us a chance to say no.

…**…**

It was so quiet and cold. I held my breath in my throat, the air caught on invisible burrs and needles.

I had been expecting it, alright, though I hadn't heard his footsteps in the snow. All I knew was that there was someone behind me, and I willed my legs to still themselves. If he had wanted me to see him, he would have stepped in front of me.

He started talking. "No weapon?" And I knew it was _him_.

"Why should I?" I whispered. I could not help it; my voice was being stubborn, though I forced it louder. "Why should I? It's foolish to hurt a teammate."

Silence. I closed my eyes, hoping to beckon him closer. "I was always," I ventured, "one for rules…remember?"

His obvious silence made me want to laugh, it was so familiar, though it also instilled in me an urge to scream and tear my hair out. I tried my hardest not to show anything on my sweaty face. "Do you remember?" I repeated instead.

I felt a slow, steady intake of breath, and then his voice again—"No." And I laughed, after all, though it was short and dusty. I didn't even remember what we had been talking about.

As soon as my laughter died down, I knew that he had taken a step closer. It wasn't exactly any kind of body heat that gave the action away, like I'd read in books, nor a sound: his footsteps were whisper-light. It was because I had turned around.

And I saw it wasn't Sasuke.

His mouth did not curl at my bleary features like I thought it would. His head did not cock at the ugly bruises mottled beneath my eyes. His eyes _did_ narrow, however, though they weren't the ones I had grown used to in these past years. These eyes were long and streamline and bore terribly long lashes that fanned out and caught the falling snow. They didn't remember me, because this wasn't Sasuke.

I felt so stupid for hoping.

Sometimes people only pretend to deny things. Sometimes they say the things they say only to comfort and pamper themselves. As I stood then in the knee-high snow, the last sparks of laughter still dying on my mouth, I said to myself that this wasn't Sasuke—Sasuke would have remembered me. Had I been telling the truth, and not only what I had wanted to hear, I would have said something a little different. I would have said that looking at that strange, familiar face made me feel better. I would have said that this man with the strange eyes may be exactly what I had ventured to find—a Sasuke who had no reason to hate me.

So I was confused when he attacked me. Like the dreamy idiot that I was, I had hopped into the clearing without a tangible weapon in hand; it was my own fault. Tsunade-sama would have my head on a platter if she ever found out.

I was forced to take the first blow, which was aimed straight to my gut. After reeling around for a while, I managed to fend off an attack while realizing my opponent wasn't the-man-who-looked-like-Sasuke, but a gilled man. _Kisame._ I remembered him, though his face made me want to retch.

"Little girl is in for more than she reckoned." His face twisted into what I realized was a smile. "Little _girl_—" he thrust the heel of his palm into my chin— "was foolish to come."

His words made no sense to me; I had to shut him up. I took his hand and bit it hard.

Pushing back, I reached to flick out a kunai (which I had been smart enough to stash), but something caught my wrist and held it there. The-man-who-looked-like-Sasuke snatched my other hand as it reeled around.

"Kisame," he said.

The shark man was grinning, and I tried my best to mask my features as fear made itself known inside me. I would make Kakashi-sensei proud, at least. I seemed to be pretty much screwing up everything else since I'd left Konoha.

Though I wriggled and kicked, the gilled man still managed to get a grip around my calf. His nails dug in.

"Such strong legs." His tiny, glazed eyes were the least human I had ever seen. "Let me break them."

I struggled in vain as his hands worked up to just below my thighs, pushing my leg into the heatless snow, and then—with a force I found unnatural and alien—he snapped my leg in the opposite direction.

I screamed until I felt bubbles in my mouth—until I felt fireworks going off in my throat. His hands moved on to my other leg and gave it the same snapping treatment, causing white things to flicker like hot embers across my vision. I had experienced pain before, but little could amount to this. It felt like the blood in my legs was running cold.

I wanted to pass out. I wanted to slip into the bleak, black coolness that I felt _right there_, just within reach, but something held me from it. Startled out of my daze, I felt my body being jostled and felt something very cold against my cheek.

My eyes cleared a little. The pain still coursed in and out of me; my chest still constricted and my throat still burned, but I found I could better bear the mistreatment. I must have turned onto my side, I realized, because it was snow my cheek was pressed to. I didn't want to move my arms, otherwise I would have felt the tears streaming past my eyes and the spittle running out of my mouth.

It was then that I made out the boots in front of me, and I knew I wouldn't be given any peace. There was a blue blur, and something struck across my face, killing me.

At least, I thought I was dead. I was wrong, though, because you can't die in Hell.

………………………**…**

Someone was humming. The tune, while both light and meaningless to me, shook me out of my sleep. I opened my eyes and lay still.

I was very cold.

The voice was soft and feathery, and I couldn't tell whether it was real or merely my mind's idea of self-comfort. I didn't turn to see; I didn't want the aches to return.

The tune ended quietly, leaving only the sound of my breathing, ragged and gaining in tempo, to fill the space. I was lying on my stomach, I found; my eyes searched in their sockets for some kind of distinguishing mark that would make this place recognizable to me. All I saw was dark and gray, and I felt my face crumple—like a small child's.

Soft steps, wanting to be heard, neared my head. I quieted myself.

"You are broken."

This is how I came to be here, half-dead with those damnable red eyes on my back. I felt them, and I wanted to run, but I was broken. I couldn't go anywhere.

"…And weak."

I willed the fear to bleed out of me, to soak into the cold, dusty floor, but it remained lurking in my gut. Boot steps circled my side, idle and elf-light. I tensed.

"You are afraid, too." He bent close, brushing his mouth against my ear. "Tell me, Little Flower, do you fear me? I want to know."

I tried my hardest not to shake—held my breath and fought the quivers—but they came regardless. I opened my eyes against the solid ground.

"You will never walk again, Little Flower."

I began to cry, as I knew I would, but not before I spat out what was hanging on my tongue.

"God will damn you." I wanted this person to suffer, and didn't care if he killed me anymore. Let him.

As it was, he pulled back; I heard his boots _click_ against the ground as they drew away.

The humming started again.

………………………**…**

I was held captive for four days, within which I was force-fed and carried from room to room. I remember little of it, nor of whom it was who cared for me.

On the fourth day, a medic was brought to seal my wounds. After that, my health and my wits were near repaired. My legs, however, were not.

………………………**…**

**Author's Note**: Shorter chapter, and rather depressing, too. I'm sorry. I couldn't go on without risking messing up the mood. Anyway, "the-man-who-looks-like-Sasuke" was finally introduced, along with Kisame. I've read many fictions including these characters and will try to develop them in a way that will pay off in the storyline. For instance, Kisame, being an under-roled character, could be either wickedly aggressive or just plain cruel. It'll be interesting seeing which personalities will play out.

Now, on to the reviews…

_Cold Fire Phoenix_: THANK YOU for the review. You've covered so much; I'll look into the suggestions you've made. You seem to be a strong Sakura fan and support her for many of the reasons I do, as both your review and fiction show. Thanks.

_RobinAmon_: Thanks for reviewing again. And hey – it's more than one word this time!

Chapter 5 should be online in 4 days or so…I think. We'll see. Let's aim for _4 reviews_ this time.

**Plug:** www dot fictionpress dot com/read dot php?storyid2142688&chapter2 (My other project.)


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter**: 5

**Posted**: 4/19/06

**Chapter Rating**: K+

**Warning**: None

………………………**…**

Konoha's Broken Feet 

………………………**…**

When I think of the specific highlights of my childhood, my mind leeches onto the memory of my fifth birthday. There I was in my brand-new purple and pink kimono, though the thing was so large it continually fell off one of my shoulders, bothering me to no end. Throughout that day, I tired of my single ponytail and begged random adults to "give me pretty hair." I was obsessive over my appearance.

It had been a joint birthday, shared between myself and my nine-year-old cousin. She is married now. I used to wonder what it was like to be married, to have to spend the rest of your life with someone else, to pick them down to their average, daily routines. I had never liked the idea—not until I met that Uchiha boy.

I groaned and rubbed a hand across my eyes, puncturing the memories. That tune was stuck in my head again, damnit. I let my hand drop and gazed in a bleary stupor about my quarters.

I had been shifted in the past few days to a lighted, stone cell, complete with those classic iron bars installed straight into the rock. I had a cot in this place, as well as an accompanying sheet, rough as starch. That was it.

It was my fourth or fifth day in prisonment and still, I hadn't seen any sign of Sasuke in this place. I hadn't even spotted his look-alike since I was first brought here. There was only Kisame, and that nice medic nin who checked up on me sometimes.

I never told anyone I was a medic nin, myself—I was saving my chakra, and anyway, I had been too battered to make headway on my wounds before—not until the other medic had them already set. I had, however, taken liberties to fix my legs when no one was around. Nothing had happened.

I couldn't get myself to believe it. The chakra points in my legs were crushed, every single one of them. They were dead.

At first, I had been desperate. My only hopes of escape had sprouted themselves from the dream of running away. How could I outsmart these people if I couldn't walk? Damnit, what was I supposed to _do_?

They were the Akatsuki, I realized. They would kill me.

Mostly, in those days, I was alone. I would sleep for hours, and when I woke up, there would be a plate of food—mostly bread and chicken, sometimes tuna—and two cups of water set by the bars. Greedily, I would stuff my face, as it was my only energy source for the next twenty-four hours.

When I was bored, I would scratch pictures into the loosely packed surface of the ground. The nails of my index finger were blackened and gnawed within days.

I was certain I was going to die, eventually. My pack had been stripped from my shoulders—Sasuke's lock of hair and the "_We have him_" note must only have been lurement. For what, I don't know. Maybe I was bait for Naruto or the others. Probably Naruto. They wanted him, didn't they?

My biggest misery, surprisingly, was that there was nobody to talk to. I subconsciously began to talk out loud to myself.

…**…**

"She never really did drink a lot," I was saying, "but when she does, she's out like a light. Mom's like that. I don't think I am, but you never know. I've never tried. Drinking, I mean."

It had been the fifth day, as I counted later. I was talking loudly to the walls, allowing my voice to rise in volume until my ears ached with its screech.

"I've always thought it tastes _awful._ I mean, honestly! Who would drink that stuff? Of course, _Dad loves it._ Gosh, what a moron. _No wonder_ Mom says—"

"You are entirely too loud."

"—he never…" Needless to say, I shut up, and my eyes went to the other side of the room, to the shadows. It was where I imagined any respectable captor would first be spotted.

He was not there, however, but feet away from me, in the light. He allowed his weight to lean against the stonewall, head tilted slightly, his red-cloud cloak circling his feet.

I let the weight of my head fall against the wall behind me as I sought a better view of him. I could pretend he was Sasuke, come to rescue me.

His eyes, in the action of the sharingan, glanced over my slumped form; his face looked unamused, if anything. I had gotten good at reading Uchiha faces. "You haven't undergone your inspection," he said quietly. "Please comply."

"Who are you?"

Not a flicker. His eyes were very darkly lashed, I noticed. It was pretty. "Are you going to kill me?" I asked, much too at ease for my own good.

He lowered his eyes to the drawings I'd made on the floor. He bought more time before he answered. "Yes."

That woke me up. Dragging my head from the wall behind me, I sat up straighter, feeling my eyes stretch at the grit that had gathered there since my last sleep. "What?"

Without a movement, his eyes flickered up to mine for what seemed the first time, appealing, both dark and morbid. I watched his mouth open. "You…wish to live?"

"I want to go home." The words were half-hearted, as I wasn't sure how he'd react. He was a psycho, for God's sake. I was about to speak again when a sudden thought struck me dumb. The Uchiha clan… Sasuke was supposed to be the only survivor, not including… "Who are you?"

I expected some motion—a flick of the eye; the curl of a lip, but he offered me nothing. "Get up," he said.

I stared at him. It was obvious I couldn't stand on these legs. _He's mocking me,_ I thought. Showing off. Yet his face wasn't etched in superiority—at least, not from what I could see.

Growing peevish with the silence, I turned my eyes on my crooked, broken legs. The medic had not splinted them, and so they stuck out at weird angles, bent underneath me. Had I had the materials, I would have done the job myself. As it was, I left them untouched.

"Did you not hear me, Little Flower?"

"You've—" I stopped myself and sighed, feeling my stomach restrict from lack of food. When would I next eat? "I-I can't," I said, wishing to weep. I waited for his reaction.

He said nothing for a long while, and when he looked down his nose at my two twisted limbs, I felt nothing in his gaze. "If I order something," he murmured, "do it."

"But I _can't._"

He studied the hem of his cloak as though he had fully expected my defiance. I felt my body draining of its upright posture. "Even you can't fix them?" he asked me. I could have wrung his throat for saying it.

As it was, I was mildly surprised at his hints of me being a medic, though I didn't say anything. I couldn't tell if he was looking at me or not and kept my silence in check.

"Very well."

I could feel the terror birthing in me for the first time in days. _What had he said before? What about the inspection?_ I pressed my shoulder blades further into the stone behind me as he neared; I wasn't beyond noticing the fact he was careful not to scuff my drawings. The action alone didn't keep me from freezing as he descended, inches away.

He never touched me; he never even looked me in the eye. His gaze fixed with interest on the dull, dampened space of rock near my head instead. I followed his eyes but couldn't see anything that was of a threat there.

It was a long time before he spoke, but when he did, there was nothing in his voice but a dry smoothness. "You came."

I sought out his eyes, but still they wouldn't turn to me. I wanted to see… I had to see… "S-Sasuke?" I whispered. I must have been delirious—I had to have been.

His bloody-red gaze traveled idly up my shoulder, resting on the side of my face; he ignored my remark completely. "…We fought," he said.

I didn't say anything.

His eyes roamed higher still. "I used the Mangekou sharingan…"

I pressed my lips together.

His vibrant gaze went over my face, but there was no life, no focus there. "We have his body," he said.

_On all counts, it could have been Sasuke's brother writing; "we have him" could have only meant they had Sasuke's dead body._ I had thought that. I had thought that many times. I closed my eyes, not exactly sure how I was supposed to feel. Right now, there was an invisible fist twisting itself into my stomach. I found I couldn't cry, though I sure as hell wanted to. I couldn't in front of… I took a breath, but coughed it out. "You're Uchiha Itachi?" I managed to mumble. Now I was the one who wouldn't meet his eyes.

When he said nothing, I ventured on. "Can I see him?"

"…Yes."

………………………**…**

**Author's Note**: Not so very long, but I had to end it there. Forgive me, haha. We finally had some interaction between Sakura and Itachi, at last. I'd say this chapter is namely where the storyline starts picking up. Please inform me if you find and grammar errors or characters that are not acting as they should. I tried. Oh, and as a note - that whole beginning section comes (minus the kimono) directly from my childhood, from my obsession over my appearance, to the joint birthday, even down to my nickname, "pretty hair."

Now, let's get to the reviews…

_Skogstroll_: Yeah, I explained the "Sakura is a healing nin so why didn't she heal herself" thing at the beginning of this chapter. Thanks for the review!

_DarkNightDreamer_: Yeah, I don't know where the humming thing came from. I guess I wanted to make Itachi sort of human, you know. He must get bored sometimes. And yes, yes, there will be more "heat" in later chapters, haha. You make me laugh – see you next chapter?

_silvya_: Here is your update, lady (forgive me if you're actually a guy…) Enjoy.

Chapter 6 should be online in 5 days. Goal: _5 reviews_. Come on, people, you can do it!


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** Slap me. Seriously, slap me. I had been on a roll as far as updates go, but then suddenly, _wham._ It happened. _Writer's block._ I'm so sorry for the wait, and even more sorry if this chapter's not all it's cracked up to be. I honestly did put effort into it, and I tried not to make it super short. It is what it is, I guess. Hopefully the next will be out sooner. Again, sorry.

………………………**…**

**Chapter**: 6

**Posted**: 5/03/06

**Chapter Rating**: T

**Warning**: Mild blood

………………………**…**

Konoha's Broken Feet 

………………………**…**

Apparently, "inspection" meant un-volunteered suicide in this place.

The man whom I could only imagine was Saskue's brother led me through some sort of crevice in the rock—a cave. I didn't bother to certify my guesses. I was scared, but more than that, I was hungry and miserable and felt like I was going to vomit on the tail end of his pretty cloak.

I kept my head down and stepped around the footprints he made in the loose-packed dirt.

Some of the entrances to rooms, I noticed, were too unshaped to install doors. Thin fabric was hung along the outlines, separating the rooms. I soon grew tired of swatting the cloth away and allowed it to brush past my face. It made my hair stand on end.

I nearly bumped into the Uchiha man when he stopped. I realized my eyes were half-closed and felt them widen, wiping over the room with a quick glance. I didn't register anything.

"There are five men before you." I yanked my eyes upward as the Uchiha spoke. "I expect you to heal each one to his fullest extent."

_But I'm hungry,_ I wanted to moan, but I saw he was already gone, swirling away like some little cyclone. I looked at the men and knew they had no plans on feeding me.

I felt the voice inside me fume around my head. _Idiot! Don't you know that people need to _eat I dispelled the urge to clutch my stomach as I looked over the cluster of heads.

Some looked more tolerant than others, but they were all so overwhelming to me. I didn't survey them much because I didn't expect to spend a whole lot of time with them.

They all wore the red-cloud Akatsuki robes.

"Girl." One man with a swab of cloth around his head began to stand. I blinked tiredly at him. "Girl, fix this." He held out his arm.

The bottom half was cut off. Blood everywhere.

The others were rising in their seats, their voices melding together. "Fix us," one said. "We're broken."

"_You are broken, Little Flower."_

"Fix us."

I woke up suddenly, though I stayed still for a very long time. My breathing came roughly, and the sounds it made filled my ears. I looked around.

Kisame stood at the door of my cell, handling an iron chair. "Are you prepared to see the boy?" he asked me.

I stared at him for a long moment before rubbing my face in my hands. By the time my eyes were open again, I was composed. I told him yes.

He wheeled the chair to me.

……**…**

He held a grudge with pushing me around, I could tell. It was the way he grumbled.

Kisame scared the hell out of me, but not so much that I wasn't free to my own thoughts. I didn't have the guts to directly speak to him, of course, but there was something keeping him from looking like a complete monster in my eyes. It was the interaction between us, maybe. The fact that there was another speaking being lopping about somewhere in this place.

Strangely, I wasn't afraid he was going to kill me. He was taking me to Sasuke—that was all I could think about. The probability of death could—would—come later.

The halls were different than the ones in my dream. It seems while my prison had been all stone and decrepidness, not everything in this cave-mountain was cold. There was filed bamboo stalk on the floors; various carvings on the walls. Long, long halls with many doors. They used a lot of wood.

The wheelchair was uncomfortable, though I didn't complain. Sitting up and _moving_—it felt so good. I wanted to hug something, though my ricocheting heart kept the urge from growing.

I almost felt I was in a sort of alternate reality. None of this felt real; my actions had no consequence.

Shark-man churned the wheelchair to a halt outside a small, whitewood door, and I sat up a little straighter. Suddenly I felt terrified. What if they didn't intend to lead me to Sasuke? What if they really wanted me to heal their men? What if—

Kisame opened the door.

When he wheeled me in, I thought we were going through another hall, it was so dark. My eyes soon adjusted, however, and I saw that the opposing walls were wide and far enough away to form a shallow room. A bedroom. I saw the four-poster bed in the corner and the bookshelf standing beside it.

Of course, my eyes automatically went to the bed, but there was no one lying there.

Kisame wheeled me to a long something in the far corner. Some kind of chest. It was pretty, but he keyed it and flipped the lid before I could further admire it. He left the room.

Fabric. There was a lot of fabric in the chest. Bending over the arm of the chair to rifle through it, I willed myself not to be disappointed. Honestly, what had I been expecting?

I saw his skin first. It was very white, as was his face, after I'd uncovered it. I put a hand to my mouth.

Sasuke looked like he was sleeping, with his nearly shut eyes and his hair all fanned out on the red and gold and blue clothes. Carefully, I reached my fingers to his cheek, but there was no heat there. It felt like pliable plastic under my hand. Still, I didn't cry.

"It has a strange counter-effect, the Mangekyou." I felt his chakra consuming space in the room even as I heard his voice. I tore my eyes from Sasuke's face and turned, watching him watching me.

I couldn't keep the eye contact between us and turned my head to the chest, leaning out of my chair again. I didn't know what to say first. _Sasuke's dead, like you said he'd be._ That was the closest remark to my tongue, but I swallowed it down.

If I wasn't scared before, I was now. No one—_no one_—could kill Sasuke. It couldn't happen.

"Why do you not speak?" The man, the one who did this, came close, his shadow melting through the dark. Though I wouldn't look at him or his brother, I couldn't help but see his white arm reach across Sasuke's face. He pulled the pale eyelids open, and they stared up at me.

_You've finally found me,_ they seemed to say.

I found Sasuke.

………………………**…**

_They curved gracefully, up, up, higher and higher. Black and purple. Swirls. So graceful. First across his cheek, under his eyes. Across his shoulder, down his arm. Around his neck in riveting circles. Along the veins on the back of his hand. Red eye. Black eye._

_"I'm an aveng—"_

I stirred with a jolt, pulling my weight off the metal arm. My wheelchair swayed, and I steadied it with my hands, half in a stupor. I was so tired.

My legs tingled and my head reeled. Feeling disarmed, my eyes went over the younger Uchiha's white, white face. A pleasant feeling whorled deep in my stomach before twisting around on itself and dying away. My throat constricted.

He was just a boy. My Sasuke. Dry sobs come to my eyes, but no tears would spill and make things better. _Damnit it, God. I hate you. I hate…_

_Itachi. _The name came to me for the first time in I-don't-know-how-long. I had forgotten it all this time, but that was his name, wasn't it? No longer would I know him as "the-man-who-looks-like-Sasuke." He had a name now, a face.

I would kill him. Not now, but later. I would rip him apart.

Right now, though—I would keep Sasuke company. I pinched the tender underneath of my arm hard, hoping to bring tears. It didn't take much.

_I'm an aveng—_

_I'm an avenger._

_I'm avenging._

_Avenging._

"Come." I looked over the back of my chair at the shark-man's silhouette framed in the doorway. He was so big. "I'm to show you the situation," he growled, his eyes glaring daggers.

I subconsciously touched Sasuke's cool, plasticky arm with my fingers, not wanting to be separated again. But Kisame lumbered behind me and grasped the handles of the chair, wheeling me forward. I pressed my hands against the wheels but pulled them back when they burned against the rubber.

"Stop," I coughed with a dry mouth. Shark man kept his silence—why did these people not listen to me? Suddenly we were out of the room, in the hall. Wicked lamps made my vision bright, and I screwed my eyes shut. Splotches flashed in the soft skin beneath my eyelids.

The moving motion of the wheels against the wood floor kept my mind moving. I was so disoriented, so wrung out, that I couldn't think straight. I willed the moving to stop. I was almost surprised when it didn't.

I heard a grunt from above me and found myself being wheeled into a small room. A bathroom. Kisame said something before leaving me alone in the stuffy place.

I stared at the opposite wall in blank disbelief. I could have sworn he'd just said, "Get ready for dinner." Twisting around, I tried the doorknob, but it was locked from the outside. _Of course._ I turned back to the bathroom.

I held no interest in preening myself—I wanted to stay with Sasuke. I tried the door again, but it was still locked, and I let my hand slide off the handle.

Who would need to mail me? _I wanted to know, but there wasn't an addressee on the back, just a sadly blank, white space. That frustrated me as I squeezed myself between the sheets of my bed and pulled the chord to my lamp so that it turned on. The light made the paper look even paler, dingier, than before. I tore it open._

I had made a mistake. I was here now, though, and I would have to do something. Take Sasuke's body back.

_But you can't walk._ The small voice behind my ears came out to chatter. **You're paralyzed.** I had never thought of it that way before, and the thought froze me.

How could I train with Tsunade-sama if I couldn't use my legs? How was I supposed to become a part of ANBU someday? My entire life relied on my legs… _These_ legs. I rubbed them offhandedly with my fists. I didn't feel anything.

Would I die here like Sasuke? Would I be stuffed into a clothing chest?

I had been so safe in Konoha. So stupid. I wished I could go back in time and prevent myself from ever leaving my mother's house._ Stop,_ I would say. _Get back in bed._ But for someone so remarkably intelligent, I lost my wits so easily.

I looked around the room, feeling my eyelids sagging. There was a mirror to my right, hung over a pearly-gray sink. A wooden, covered washtub sat in the opposite corner. Facing me was a toilet. Careful to steady my arms, I lifted the lid and slowly shifted my weight onto the seat, pushing the wheelchair away so that it squealed across the floor and bumped into the door.

When I had relieved myself and successfully transferred my backside into the chair again, I contemplated what I was to do. I had to leave. And I had to bring Sasuke with me. With these legs, however, there would be a zero chance of escape. I would have to wait, then. Wait for Kakashi-sensei and the others to arrive, biding my time and not getting myself killed. I scratched dust out of my hair, contemplating this as I looked up.

I stared back at my own reflection in the mirror. I couldn't believe how shiny and pale my face looked. I hated it. Warily, my eyes glanced over the washtub. A quick rinse wouldn't hurt, would it? I probably reeked by now, after my time in that god-forsaken cell.

Pushing off of the sink, I scooted towards the tub. There was a faucet installed (thank God), and I had only a little difficulty reaching over the brim to twist the handles. I held my forearm beneath the water as the stream grew warm.

I was eager to get the sticky, grimy clothes off my being, and so I stripped quickly, my eyes locked on the door until I was comfortably submerged. The water was so clear that I could see the little particles of dust and dead skin floating off of me. Modesty compelled me to bend over myself as I scrubbed my hair clean.

It was around this time that I heard the rustle of clothing and looked up.

It took me a minute to find it, but draped over the sink's basin was a Konoha _hitai-ate_. My _hitai-ate_, I realized.

As I wheeled myself over and took the cloth in my hand, my eyes caught on something else. A note.

…………………………

**Author's Note**: All right, the next chapter should be the beginning of the "explaining" side of the plotline. And don't worry (or maybe you should…), because Sasuke does have a role in the plot. I understand he's dead; I'm not crazy. It'll work.

As far as reviews go, I was ecstatic with the _7 reviews_ you guys sent over for the last chapter! Speaking of crazy, you guys need to get lives! No, I'm kidding – I'm very, very grateful that you all have taken the time to tell me what you think.

Now, on to the reviews…

_DarkNightDreamer:_ Like I said, Sasuke is one of the main characters in this story. I'm not, however, going to have one of those, "I wasn't dead – I had just bumped my head really hard and fell unconscious for two weeks," kind of things. Anyway, thank you for coming back; I appreciate it!

_SasukeLuver678:_ Thank you for the review, lady. I'm finding it very difficult working with Sakura, as her character is one of the more realistically portrayed in the anime and manga: her personality changes with the environment. She really had only a few set emotions that replay themselves enough to rely on, so it's been kind of difficult for me. I'm glad it's coming across well, though – thanks.

_Ragnarok-The Fallen Angel:_ I was thinking of having Sasuke come back from the dead in the body of a goldfish, but I was afraid that'd be a teeny bit far-fetched. Maybe something like a gazelle would be more believable, you know?

_agent-doo:_ The reason why I chose her legs to be disabled will become apparent in later chapters. Thanks very much for reviewing: had I not received so many comments, I most likely had stopped working on the story once my "writer's block" started up.

_Hopeless Romantic2:_ I don't have anonymous reviews set? _Thank you_ for telling me… I'll go fiddle around with my account and see what I can do.

_Cold Fire Phoenix:_ If you loved me before, I don't think you love me now. So much for being industrious. Anyway, I'm not too pleased with how this particular chapter shaped out, so you may not want to even bother combing through it. I'll probably revise it sometime before/after I have the next one uploaded. My grammar went out the window a few days ago. Anyway, moving on to your definition of Itachi, I don't think I could agree more. While it may annoy readers, I plan on sporting a few flash-back chapters (don't kill me) on Sasuke and Itachi's childhood, something that would better explain my reasoning for Itachi's later actions towards the clan. While the whole "testing his container" thing may be believable, I have a feeling that there's a deeper meaning to why Itachi did the things he did, and I plan on further working with the idea. I haven't an clue what conclusion will be had, but if you have any thoughts on the subject, please share!

That was one of the longest review-replies I've ever written.

_onlyhalfvampire:_ Last but not least. That's true – I could have given Sakura prosthetic legs, but I had a feeling neither Itachi, Kisame, nor any of the other Akatsuki would wish to spend that much money on a captive. A mangled, old wheelchair was the best I could come up with.

Chapter 7 will be online someday. Someday soon. I'm keeping my goal at 5 reviews, but only because I like to be pleasantly surprised.


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